A promise kept (finally)

I'm still not sure what possessed me to make my 5K promise last year. I do know that I blew my self-imposed deadline by a number of months. Life and health got in my way for awhile, and though it was tempting to let my online commitment fade quietly away, I decided a promise was a promise.

Athletic activities have never come easily to me. When skills like motor coordination and endurance were handed out, I was out to lunch. I'm a lousy runner.

On March 16, I kept my word and ran my first 5K. In case anyone is doubting my assessment of my capabilities, know that the 25-year-old winner of the Shamrock 5K finished the entire course in less time than it took me to complete a mile. I met my goal of running the entire race, with no walking and no long pauses. 

I have nothing but respect for a race in which at least half the field warms up with a beer.

At the starting line. During the race I got a lot of compliments on my Team TACA shirt as people passed me. 

Post race. More beer. Tired feet.

To mangle a quote from Dorothy Parker, "I don't like running. I like having run." Which probably means I need to sign up for another race. I'm unlikely to run for the love of it; the looming spectre of another 5K will keep me going.

As of April 1, the fundraising cycle begins anew. For our annual update and slideshow, visit my 2014 Family and Friends page.

The numbers are up. Again.

I told Mike this morning that I can't decide who aggravates me more, the people who deny an autism epidemic or the ones who characterize autism as a gift.

Mike chose option 2. Good call.

If it's a gift, then on behalf of the 1 in 68 children the CDC now estimates is affected by autism, I'd like to return it.

Some may read that and decide that I don't love or accept my daughter. They’d be absolutely wrong. Leah is loved and valued for who she is. She is a gift. Her autism is not.

Autism bestows seizures on some children. My friend whose son is attended by a nurse at school because his seizures are life-threatening has never expressed gratitude for his autism. Her love for him shines through when she talks about him, though.

Children with autism are six to eight times more likely to have GI problems than their neurotypical peers. Leah was diagnosed with celiac disease at 3. I'm fairly certain frequent warnings from her parents about food that isn't 'safe' for her gets old.

Almost half of all children with autism wander, and 42 children have died as a result of wandering since 2011. Do those grieving families think of autism as a gift? Doubtful.

My friends whose toddlers stopped talking overnight have never characterized this as a gift. Some of those children regained speech after a lot of hard work. Others didn't.

We've worked for years to treat Leah's autism. She's happy, which is great news for her parents. She's progressing, albeit on a different trajectory than her sisters. And we've been able to identify and address issues like her celiac disease precisely because we pursued treatment. Her life is better because we ignored anyone who implied there was nothing we could do.

Meanwhile, the government, via the CDC and the IACC, has watched the autism rate rise with no sense of urgency. Even the likelihood that a significant chunk of the lucky 1 in 68s will need government assistance when they reach adulthood doesn't seem to be motivating anyone. We're preparing Leah for a job -- she goes to a school with a robust work-study program and works on life skills at home, too. But she will never drive a car, and is unlikely to land a job with benefits or a high salary. I have no illusions: It will fall to us to care for Leah for the rest of her life.

That's our privilege, because we love her, but that's also an extremely expensive 'gift.'

More gems from the afterlife

Those we love are never truly gone, especially when we find old letters from them during the process of digitizing financial records.

During my scanning extravaganza (my ScanSnap portable document scanner was money very well spent), I found a letter titled Really Really Useful Advice that my dad wrote me when I was a fairly new college graduate. The letter has turned out to be a good companion to his Guide to Good Nosh. Sprinkled among the legitimate advice were a few gems, probably meant to ensure I read the letter all the way through.

"Beware all brokers. They are bungling chameleons who shall be named Rupert." -- Benjamin Franklin

"And God took pity on Lucifer, so before casting him forth from heaven to live amongst the debris of Humanity he taught him to speak French." -- Attila the Hen [sic]

"And God confounded Satan by creating real estate agents." -- Archbishop of Canterbury

So I'll be digitizing the letter, too, so that it can be passed on to Lauren and Maddie at the proper moment. 

God is an Englishman ...